


Pain

by Mar3n



Category: Call of Duty
Genre: F/M, Kidnapping, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 23:22:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7484031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mar3n/pseuds/Mar3n
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soap and the reader have been kidnapped together and he has feelings for her and has to watch her get hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain

Groaning as you lift your head up, you hear a piercing “pssst!” land harshly on your ears.

“Y/N…look at me,” Soap commands.

Fluttering your eyes open, you draw in a shaky breath through your nose, coughing at the damp, moldy air as you cringe at your throat being so sore.

Hearing Soap sigh, you lob your head up as your eyes lock onto his lightly blurry face.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Never better,” you grunt out, trying to move your hands as you realize they are bound together.

“Our legs are tied to the chair’s,” Soap states.

“Kinky,” you sarcastically retort.

As Soap looks slowly up and down your body, his eyes clocking every bruise and cut, major or minor, that you have endured because of him, he feels the anger and guilt bubbling up inside as he clenches his jaw.

But before he could say anything, the door busts open, causing the both of you to turn your heads towards the ricocheting sound.

“I see they’re awake,” the man says, heavy with a Russian accent as you snicker and shake your head.

“Typical…” you lull.

Feeling something come down hard on your cheek, you hear Soap roar as the crack against your face thunders around the room.

Groaning as blood begins to trickle from your mouth, you feel something hard in the back of your cheek as you work it towards the front of your mouth, spitting it into your lap as you gaze down at one of your pearly white molars.

“That’s gonna cost some money,” you murmur to yourself.

“Whaddaya want?” Soap asks incredulously.

“Simple. We want to know who killed Alejandro ,” the man with the accent asks.

Alejandro?

“Who’s Alejandro?” Soap asks, furrowing his brow as he watches the Russian get behind you.

“Yes,” the man says as he draws a needle from his inner coat pocket, placing it just above your shoulder as you wince at the tingling of the cool, hard piece of metal.

"Alejandro Rojas,” the man says.

Oh, god. That Alejandro.

Shaking your head no, you begin to whimper as the man presses the tip of the needle into your muscle.

“You know…this muscle. Is very…sensitive…to pain,” the man lulls.

But all Soap could do was whip his eyes between the man and your face, slowly grimacing as the pain began to waft over your body.

“I can take it,” you manage to make out as the man slowly sinks another half an inch of the steel into your muscle.

You were forcefully biting down on your lip to keep from crying out.

“Alejandro Rojas?” Soap questions.

“Yes,” the man confirms.

“Don’t do it, Soap,” you tremble, causing the man to plunge the rest of the needle into your muscle.

The bark you let out was nothing short of ear-piercing.

“Yes, Soap…enlighten me.”

Your leg was bouncing uncontrollably from the pain as tears begin to ricochet down your cheeks, until you felt the man slowly retreating the needle from your muscle.

Soap was trying desperately to keep his own emotions at bay as his eyes continue to stay locked with the Russian man standing behind you.

“Such loyalty,” the man lulls as he slowly begins to walk to your side, dragging the needle along your skin as your head hangs, panting lightly for air.

“Such strength…” the man trails off before jabbing hand of the needle in between your ribs, causing you to wrench your head back and wail up to the ceiling.

You could no longer contain the emotion of your pain.

“Such beauty…” the man whispers, bending down as he flicks his tongue out towards your earlobe.

That caused Soap to finally speak up.

“I’ll tell you who killed Rojas!” he yells.

Feeling the needle being pulled from your side, you feel your blood tricking down your skin, your lungs heaving painful draws of air as you slowly raise your wet, reddened gaze to meet his furrow-browed, worried glare.

“Y/N…” he whispers desperately.

“Don’t. You. Dare…” you glower.

“Maybe some personal time with us will change his mind,” the man says as he grasps the back of your chair, laying it back onto its back two legs as he slowly begins to drag you behind him.

“Y/N…? Y/N!?” Soap calls out, panic starting to radiate across his body.

“Soap…?” you waver as you begin to panic, your head throwing itself around as you feel yourself being moved across the floor.

Your eyes were beginning to swell shut, and it was getting harder for you to see.

“John!?” you call out as you feel your chair being pulled.

“Y/N!” Soap roars out.

Hearing a door open, your heart begins to hammer in your chest as your breathing becomes erratic, the panic in your stomach beginning to rise into your throat as you feel yourself become nauseous.

“I’ll tell you!” Soap roars out.

“No, he wont!” you roar back.

“I can’t let them hurt you, Y/N!” Soap shrieks.

You had never heard that kind of desperation in his voice before.

“I can take it…” you whimper.

“I can’t let them do what they’re going to do…” Soap trails off.

Because the truth of the matter was, seeing you being hurt was a lesser sentence than not. If he saw every move, and if he heard every cry, he would know how to help you. He would know what happened, and know how to treat you, in and out of the base…what movements to make and what not to as he helped you heal.

But if they removed you…

“So…” the Russian man lulls as he flops your chair back, crushing your hands behind you as they hit the cemented ground with the full-force of your weight, cracking a couple of your fingers and dislocating your shoulder as you cry out in pain.

“…you wish to talk?” the Russian man asks as he slowly approached Soap.

And as you hear the deafening crashing of a door against the musty walls of your confines, you hear multiple footfalls pedal their way against the floor as guns begin to cock in every direction.

“Not on your life,” you hear Ghost say.


End file.
